


Fingertips

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dying Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Hugs, Mace is the only reasonable Jedi, Near Death Experiences, Self-Sacrifice, Tapping into the Dark Side, Trapped, Use of the Force, Wartime, the Force is an Ocean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: All he's ever done is reach for Anakin.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Mace Windu
Comments: 80
Kudos: 995





	Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> This has some definitely-not-canon exploration of how the Force works, with a healthy dose of "who can die to save the other one first, Anakin or Obi-Wan"

It was difficult to figure out which way was up, and gravity was not much help in the matter. He was being crushed from too many angles. The sun could not penetrate concrete or steel, nor could any other light. Solving the mystery of which way was down would be a difficult one.

Obi-Wan coughed. Disorientation was not his only problem; clean air was only a distant memory. Drawing breath shifted the dirt, and yet still he couldn’t determine which way it fell.

“Anakin,” he said, or tried to. It came out too hoarse and too weak. The only free limb he had was his left arm, so he slid his hand along the edges of—well, wherever they were. 

He discovered broken glass, sharp gravel, and a very, very small pocket around his head. More tentative prodding with his fingers in front of him found bent steel above his head, bowing upwards just enough to keep from crushing him completely.

The Force-assisted landings rolls taught to them in the comfort of the training salles at the Temple had always felt like an extravagance; the product of a Battlemaster Jedi who had spent too long training students, growing overly fretful for their safety. In what universe would one ever need to memorise the moves necessary to guard against the errant threat of being crushed to death by concrete and metal? 

He supposed he had his answer now. Sending a silent thank you to men who could not hear his gratitude, Obi-Wan began to push. Steel pushed back; harder than he could correct for. He did manage to get his other arm free, though.

He used it to wipe his face. Blood had trickled down from his head, along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and it smeared away in caked flecks with the swipe of his hand. He was lying on his stomach, then, and the concrete pressed against his face was the ground.

Obi-Wan coughed, and then did it again as he sucked in a lungful of dust. His movements had disturbed the coating of debris that had settled on top of him, and now it hung heavy in the air. Another tip from trainers he had once thought of as worrisome fools; do not wriggle around when trapped underneath something.

Well, he would wriggle all he pleased. He was not the only person in this mess.

“Anakin!” This time, his voice rose to a croaked whisper; loud enough to be heard if close by. Which he knew Anakin was. He could feel him.

Obi-Wan looked up. The only visible light came from Anakin’s wrist comlink, which blinked an unhappy yellow—unstable connection. It illuminated his face for a brief instant, then fell dark, before blinking on again. 

Anakin’s arm was angled awkwardly near his face where he lay on his back, pressed overtop his chest and trapped there by a piece of debris. His eyes were closed, his face slack. His skin was frighteningly pale.

“Anakin,” he tried once more, stronger again this time. The steel at his back was unyielding; it would not give. 

One final, crucial part of his combat training came to him then. _Do not try to dig your way out._

Hand extended, he reached for his former Padawan. Anakin was maybe three feet away; his fingertips brushed sweaty, blood-slicked hair, but nothing more. 

Obi-Wan braced an arm on the ground, and stretched once more with his other. He could not see a pulse from here, not in the dim, blinking light, not at this angle. He needed to feel one. 

“Anakin,” he breathed. “Anakin, wake up.”

He was not dead. His presence in the Force was still bound to his body. But it was not the fierce, blinding, effortless beacon it was supposed to be. Something was wrong.

His reaching accomplished two things; it made his ribs burn horribly, and it allowed him to touch Anakin’s cheek. He pressed his forehead against the ground in front of him, gritting his teeth as the pads of his fingers pressed into Anakin’s skin. He felt too cool, too pliant.

“You have to wake up,” Obi-Wan whispered, but not aloud this time. He spoke from within, and the tether between them gave a faint tug in answer. It made him look up, hopeful.

The commlink continued to blink. Obi-Wan counted seventeen cycles. On the eighteenth, Anakin’s eyes opened.

It went dark again. He could feel Anakin’s confusion, a mild panic that began to swell as he failed to make sense of what was going on. Beneath Obi-Wan’s fingertips, he felt Anakin’s jaw move.

“Master?”

He coughed out a sigh of relief. His arm fell to the ground, and his ribs throbbed in agony as he went slack. None of that mattered. Anakin was awake.

“I’m here,” he whispered, swallowing hard. 

“Where are we?” The commlink blinked on again for another moment. Anakin’s eyes swivelled around, taking in what few details he could. His nose twitched as he let out a cough, and then they were thrown in darkness once more.

“A building collapsed during the counter strike,” Obi-Wan explained. “We’re underneath it.”

“Great.” Anakin coughed again. “Obi-Wan....”

He could feel Anakin reaching for him. Not with his hands; with the Force. Obi-Wan met it willingly. 

“I think there’s….” He suppressed a cough and licked his lips. “There’s something wrong with my spine.”

Obi-Wan did not give his own terror time to bleed out of him. Anakin’s voice was soft, and unusually high. He sounded like a little boy again; frightened and disoriented, coming to him for guidance.

“That’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, and smiled at him. It was too dark to see it. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

“I can feel Rex,” Anakin said, casting his eyes upwards. His mouth trembled, perhaps an attempt at a smile of his own. “Above us. He’s really upset. Ahsoka, too.”

Obi-Wan could feel Cody’s own fear. It was getting the better of him at the moment. He tried to send the man some small, weak reassurance, a nudge to let him know he would not be pulling their bodies from the rubble. It was hard to tell if it worked.

“They’ll get us out,” he assured him.

Anakin nodded, eyes squeezing shut. “Master,” he murmured. “It hurts a lot.”

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth. He stretched out again, enough to brush his fingertips along Anakin’s cheek. Such fussing was usually met with disdain, and a protest that he was too old for such childish affections. Now all Anakin did was lean into the fleeting, strained contact. 

“Let me try,” Obi-Wan said roughly, clearing his throat, “—to get free. I can help.”

Anakin tilted his head up slowly, frowning at him. The yellow, uneven light from his comm threw too many shadows on his face. “You’re hurt, too.” 

“I’ll survive.”

“No.”

“Anakin—”

“Just listen… listen to me instead,” Anakin asked him. “Please.”

Obi-Wan met his eyes in the dark, the gravity of his voice making him go still. It was not a simple request. _If not ever before, then now. Only this once._

“No, Anakin,” he said, shaking his head, desperate now. “No. Rex and Cody will be here with the diggers—”

“Yeah, but—in case.” Anakin coughed, and all of his features drew together in a sharp agony as it jolted his spine. “There’s things that I… need to tell you.”

“No, you don’t.” Obi-Wan shoved against the steel at his back. He may as well have been trying to shift a mountain. “I’m going to come to you.”

“It had to happen eventually.” Anakin’s voice took on a dream-like quality. Entirely unhurried, unbothered by anything around him. It sounded so unlike him that it made Obi-Wan shudder. 

He had to get to him.

“You’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan said, unsure of who he was speaking to. There was some give in the beam near his left leg. He just had to move carefully, slowly, so he didn’t bring the entire building down on top of them. So he could get to Anakin—

“Fifty-fifty odds,” Anakin was saying. “It was either going to be you or me dy—”

“Don’t say that word.” The steel at his shoulders would not budge. Perhaps a small, concentrated application of the Force….

Anakin tipped the ghost of a smile his way. He realised then that he had done a terrible job of keeping his emotions to himself. “Come on,” Anakin whispered. “You really think we’d both make it to the end of this war? So many Jedi have died already.”

“My opinion on the matter is irrelevant,” he replied, pressing his weight into his forearms, braced on uneven ground. “I have to operate as if that’s the only outcome.”

“So you do have some idea.” Anakin winced, and drew in a breath. It seemed to be getting more difficult for him to do. “I’d rather it me than you, anyway. Feels… feels right.”

“You,” Obi-Wan grunted, trying to pull himself forward. His ribs burned. “Will outlive me.”

“Is that what the—the Prophecy tells you?” Anakin coughed. “The Force?”

Obi-Wan stopped himself from saying something blasphemous. “It’s what _I_ am telling _you,_ and that’s all that should matter.”

“You talk… so much.” Anakin didn’t try to laugh, but he could hear it in his voice. “Talk, but don’t listen….”

Obi-Wan bowed his head, pressing his face into the concrete, letting the gravel slice into his skin. It hurt so much to breathe, and his struggling had already exhausted him. He had definitely injured his head during the fall, and the dizziness was not helping. 

“I’m not listening to dying wishes,” he whispered, each syllable wobbling out of his mouth. Blood trickled down his temple, drawing towards his cheek. “I’m not doing it again.”

For once in his life, Obi-Wan’s words gave Anakin pause. He didn’t try to hide the twinge of guilt he felt, and Obi-Wan did nothing to relieve him of it. If guilt kept him lucid, he would be as merciless as he could.

But then it faded. Clarity followed, calm and soft-spoken. “Well,” Anakin breathed, “you said I wasn’t going to die, so—” He cut himself off as his breath stuttered. He couldn’t curl in on himself, or even move at all, so he settled for a strained, low groan. “There’s a… a necklace. That I’m wearing. It has a wedding band hooked around it. I need you to give it to her when you get back—to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan looked up again. His skin stung from the gravel. “Who?”

Anakin met his eyes. “You know who.”

The admission hung between them. There was a distant sort of relief bleeding out of Anakin, like he’d finally been able to let out a sigh. Obi-Wan felt his throat tighten.

“Yes,” he finally said. “I do.”

Anakin closed his eyes and nodded, like that didn’t surprise him at all. “How long have you known?”

“As long as you have,” he replied, smiling weakly. “You were always horrible at hiding your thoughts from me.”

“You never said anything.” 

The rubble above them shifted. The faint noise of a digger reverberated along steel and concrete, and tiny pieces of debris rained down on them. Anakin scrunched his nose, trying to dislodge the dust from his face. “You never…” His voice was weak now, weaker than it had been. “You never told the Council.”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan responded. His own voice sounded too loud, but he would not whisper. He needed to keep Anakin awake. “It’s not my secret to tell. Although I thought you would have waited to marry until after the war.”

“Yeah, well. No time like the present, and everything.” Anakin tried to shift again, to get a better look at him. The angle was awkward; his cheek pressed against the dusty concrete. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“About you and Padmé?”

Anakin flinched. It was almost imperceptible, especially in the dark, but the painful twinge that came with it was easy to sense. “Yeah.”

There weren’t a lot of places to look. Obi-Wan searched for one anyway, unable to meet his former Padawan’s eyes. “You’ve never had a say in any part of your life, Anakin,” he said eventually. “I’m not going to berate you for the one choice you did make, especially not now. As long as it—makes you happy.”

He heard Anakin nod, gravel scraping with the movement. “Right,” he said thickly.

“But I will lecture you once we’re out of this mess,” Obi-Wan added, and heard a faint wheeze that was supposed to be laughter. 

“I look forward to it.”

Obi-Wan allowed himself a proper smile. It felt strangely like a wince. “I have a wedding gift for you, you know,” he told him. “It’s in my office. I was going to give it to you after—well, after.” After everything, after all this. When they were finally done being soldiers. “Though I’d anticipated giving it to you on your wedding day.”

“We’ll have to have a second wedding, then.” Anakin’s mouth twitched. The movement was disjointed in the blinking yellow light. “I got in a fight just before I left. With—Padmé.” The word came out with some difficulty. He’d spent too long avoiding saying her name for it to come naturally now. “She’s gonna be upset about that when I come back in a box.”

“That is not happening.”

“And Ahsoka….”

Anakin trailed off. His eyes were closed now. The breath whistled out of his nose softly, almost like he were a boy again, snoring into his pillow.

Obi-Wan could not work himself free—not without moving what was above him. He also could not watch Anakin fade away in front of him.

He reached for him again. He felt damaged muscle finally tear across his ribs from the strain, and reached further still. He could now brush his knuckles across Anakin’s forehead—he wiped the dust from his skin, and then laid his hand atop his head.

“You will live,” he said, but could only whisper it to the ground. He closed his eyes, and felt his nose flatten against the concrete. “All is as the Force wills it.”

* * *

“They’re alive.”

Ahsoka had insisted as much over the course of the day, but it was beginning to sound more like a prayer than a statement of fact. Rex didn’t want to point it out to her, so he said nothing. Maybe it was better if they all pretended she was right.

The diggers were cumbersome, made only marginally better with help from Ahsoka. He could see that she was tiring from all the work, and he wanted to help her, but there was nothing he could do. His job was to stand back and watch—and to make sure nobody began panicking.

That was a burden unto itself. Even Cody seemed to have trouble keeping his fear in check. He paced, he fidgeted, and he was far too quiet. All he said was the same thing: “They’re alive.”

Rex didn’t need the reassurance. They’d been trained to hope for the best and expect the worst; and they needed to prepare for the possibility, however bleak, that they’d all be filing for transfers soon. He knew which forms needed to be filled out, what boxes needed to be checked. He wasn’t far gone enough yet to actually pull up the paperwork on his HUD, but he’d called it up for easy access—just in case. It was standard procedure, anyway. 

In the meantime, he occupied himself by documenting their progress with the dig. It would all need to go in the full report, no matter what they found below the rubble.

 _“Still clear down here,”_ Fives reported in his helmet then, and Rex looked up from his boots. _“Same as it was twenty-six minutes ago.”_

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, meeting the edge in Fives’ voice with a patient, detached professionalism that he knew would irk his brother. “Go another round.”

_“The boys wanna know about updates.”_

He glanced at Cody. His head bobbed slightly beneath his helmet; his fingers twitched at his sides. He was talking to his own men, likely asking for the same thing.

“I don’t have any,” Rex told him. “I’ll tell you when I do.”

He knew the wait was gnawing at all of them. Sending men out to patrol the area while they dug solved the issue of having a company of idle, anxious troopers standing around with nothing to do but think, but they all knew it was busy work. Even the ones assigned to log the extent of the collapse, or search for Seppie tech to bring back, or guard the medical transports waiting at the extraction site—anyone not directly involved in the dig knew they were just twiddling their thumbs.

Fives didn’t respond, but the line was still open. He could hear his brother’s breathing on the other end—measured, but annoyed. Afraid. Confused. Wondering if he should prepare for the consequences all of them would face if they went back to Coruscant with two Jedi in freezer boxes. 

“The dig’s slow going,” Rex said with a sigh. “There’s a lot of shifting debris. We don’t want to accidentally crush them while we remove it. Ahso—Commander Tano says she can feel them, so we think they’re still alive. I can’t give you anything else, Fives. It could be hours yet.”

 _“Right.”_ Fives heaved a sigh. _“Jesse was wondering if we should set up some tents. To sleep for tonight, I mean. We passed his squad earlier.”_

“Good idea.” Rex paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was dry. “You wanna set up tents, or keep walking?”

He could hear the smile in Fives’ voice when he replied. _“Nah, get the shinies to do it. I hate fighting with sleeping kits.”_

“Thought so.” Rex smiled faintly. “But stay off comms from now on unless you’re reporting a sighting. No more idle chatter. Don’t need to broadcast to anyone that we’re still here.”

_“Aye, sir.”_

The line went dead. Rex decided he need to sit down for a moment, and found a piece of rebarred concrete to accommodate him. Cody looked over at the movement, and the amused cock of his head was welcome. “Tired already?”

“It’s hard work, supervising,” he replied. The humour in his voice was just as strained, but it was all either of them had. “How’s everything looking?”

“Squad of mine found a Seppie tank with some tactical chips in the droids,” Cody told him. “Probably garbage, but it’s something.”

The last word came out heavy. Tactical chips traded for the life of two Jedi. _Potentially,_ Rex reminded himself. They could be alive. 

And the chips could be garbage.

But if they found bodies instead of generals in the rubble, that would be their prize. Scraps and leftovers from a battle that had already cost them too many men. 

“The others are digging trenches,” Cody continued, and Rex winced when he realised he’d let the comment hang. “Latrines and graves.”

“The two constants,” Rex muttered. “That’s good, then.”

“Yeah.” Cody scuffed at the ground with a boot heel. It was a sloppy use of movement; he didn’t do it in front of anyone else besides Rex. “Saw your paperwork loadout.”

“I’m just being pessimistic,” he assured his brother. “In my head too much about the whole thing. We won’t need to transfer.”

“You ever work under anyone else besides Skywalker?”

A pointless question. Cody knew the answer to that already. “No.”

Cody nodded and said nothing. Rex heaved a sigh and pulled his helmet off, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“It’s not going to happen,” he said to Cody, his bucket hanging in his hands between his legs. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but….” Cody tilted his head, and the implication hung. “It’s an adjustment, is all I mean.”

“I know that.” He clenched his teeth. He couldn’t get angry at him. “You’ve told me about it.”

Shinies asked him about it all the time. Whether the rumours about “the bonding thing” were true. Jedi didn’t just lead their men, they connected with them—literally. They did it most strongly with their second-in-commands, but it happened with any clone who managed to stick around long enough in a single battalion. Networks formed between them, a web that moved with them as one. Rex had been close to his brothers before serving under Skywalker; now he felt each of them, however faintly, like a weight in the air, a twinge in the back of his mind. When one of them fell, the web bled, grieved by a dead connection. It eventually repaired itself, but that took time, too.

But never the centre. The centre always held.

“They’re alive!”

They both looked up. Ahsoka’s call was triumphant now, not insistent; loud and piercing enough that every clone in the vicinity turned to look at her. She was covered in grime, and a fair bit of blood, but one slender arm was pointing down into the depths of the rubble as she hung off the scoop of the digger. “I see them!”

Rex shoved his helmet on and followed after Cody, who was immediately on the move, jumping down as carefully as they could from their position atop the ruined building. Ahsoka was already leaping into the hole, and when they got to the edge, he felt his heart seize in his chest.

The digger had peeled away a bent sheet of steel, blown upwards in a shallow, concave dome that had protected them from being completely crushed. Kenobi was pinned by a beam, but he had enough room to reach for Skywalker. His arm was extended outwards, just barely enough to rest his fingers overtop his forehead. Rex’s throat tightened. 

“Anakin!” Ahsoka slid down to where they were trapped, sending gravel and dust scattering from her boots. 

Rex raised Kix. He’d been on standby, tending idly to the troopers who were injured in the strike. “You’ll need a lot of men to move them both,” he told him.

_“Aye, sir.”_

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could hear Ahsoka calling out frantically for Anakin, and wondered if his general would be dead by the time he reached the bottom of the pit.

* * *

Sunlight woke him, and then the pain in his spine kept him awake.

Everything looked very high up and far away when he opened his eyes. Troopers moved around him, lifting the debris trapping his body. The beam pinning his arm against his chest loosened and fell away; blood rushed to the limb painfully, swelling the skin with an awful, bloated static.

“Anakin!” He felt Ahsoka’s hands on his face, then saw her kneeling above him. A flash of Kix’s helmet temporarily blotted out the sun from over her shoulder. 

She was smiling, her chin wobbling with relief. “You’re okay.”

It came out more like a question. He blinked and tried to speak, but his mouth felt swollen and tasted awful. “Yeah,” he managed to get out, confused. “Where….”

“You were trapped when the building collapsed,” she explained, and stepped away from him. Kix took her place, his hands light and gentle.

“Be still, sir,” he instructed calmly, checking his pulse. His fingers went elsewhere when they were done, touching his arm, palpating his chest. “Scan says your spine’s damaged, and you’ve got a nasty concussion. We’re bringing around a hauler to lift you out.”

His eyes darted around as Kix asked him questions. _Does this hurt? Can you feel this? Do you have trouble breathing?_ Anakin answered as best he could, but even his own voice sounded far away to him. He felt clouded, and not just because of the head trauma—something had happened. 

They lifted him carefully into a stretcher once the debris had been cleared, and Kix finally allowed him to move his head. “Slowly,” the medic cautioned. “And don’t make a habit of it. Just stay comfortable. No straining.”

Ahsoka was at his side, a hand on his chest. He wanted to reach for her, but they’d strapped him into the stretcher. He offered her a weak smile instead. “I’m okay, Snips.”

The reassurance didn’t seem to do anything. She nodded silently, swallowing hard, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know.”

He frowned. Ahsoka looked like she was on the verge of tears, and not from relief. Was he more injured than he thought? No, that wasn’t it. She’d be freaking out, and so would—

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

His head turned. The clones were clipping the lines onto his stretcher, preparing the hauler to lift him up. They’d cleared enough ground around the collapse that a dozen men could easily stand inside it, and around the plastoid greaves of a trooper, he saw Obi-Wan still lying on the ground. He was very, very still.

“Obi-Wan!” He jerked in the stretcher, and Kix was at his side immediately, brushing Ahsoka away.

“General, you need to stop moving—”

“Obi-Wan, what did you do!” Blinding, white-hot pain ran up his spine, but he needed to get to him. There were too many people in the way. “Get up! Obi-Wan!”

Ahsoka stepped in again, blocking his line of sight. She pressed a palm to his chest, trying to calm him. “Anakin, it’s okay—”

“No,” he seethed, looking up at her. “He has to—I have to get to him. Get out of the way!”

She glanced at Kix briefly before looking at him again. “Master, please—they’re going to medicate you if you don’t stop moving—”

His heart was pounding so hard he barely heard her. The memory of his conversation with Obi-Wan flooded back to him. He remembered their words—about odds, about will. It could have been their last.

He thrashed against the restraints. “Get out of the way!” he yelled at Ahsoka, harshly enough this time that she actually stumbled back in shock. Obi-Wan was still on the ground, surrounded by troopers. “Wake up! It was supposed to be me! I told you it was supposed to be me! _Obi-Wan!”_

He felt a spike of pressure against his neck. Kix had a hand on his jaw, and the stretcher jerked as it began to lift upwards. His vision tunnelled immediately, whittling to a tiny point. The voice of whoever was speaking to him faded away, and the last thing he saw was a mess of rubble.

Obi-Wan hadn’t listened to him. He never did.

* * *

The Halls of Healing always used to scare her as a child. The bacta tanks made deep bubbling sounds that would follow her into her dreams, and the smell in the medical bays was awful. Too sharp and clean, like the air was made of knives. Ahsoka remembered having to be dragged into the place for check-ups as a child, or whenever she was hurt. She’d stayed in the Halls overnight once, when she’d broken her arm during training. Ahsoka barely remembered anything about the night, which was probably for the best, but the fear she’d felt was always easy to recall.

She kept her eyes closed as she sat cross-legged on the floor. Her fingers were steepled on the glass of the bacta tank, its surface cool and dry. Sometimes she felt the bubbles knock softly against the glass as they rose to the top. The sound made her flinch every time.

Master Vokara Che was watching her, and approached slowly, weaving through the rows of bacta tanks. Nearly all of them were empty at the moment, dormant and hollow. All except for two.

“My dear,” the woman began, not unkindly. “You cannot sit on the floor.”

“I know.” Ahsoka opened her eyes and looked up. “How do you think they’re doing?”

“I think that your fretting will not do them any favours.” Vokara offered a hand down to Ahsoka, and she took it, allowing the woman to pull her to her feet.

She looked at the tank again. Anakin was inside this one, suspended in the liquid. He had a serene look on his face—all the terrified desperation from before was gone. He looked at peace.

“How long?” she asked. Her hand twitched by her side, but she stopped herself from touching the glass again.

“For Skywalker, a few more days, perhaps. He’s healing well.”

Ahsoka nodded. Swallowing, she glanced at the tank beside Anakin’s. “And Master Obi-Wan?”

Master Vokara was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed. “It is hard to say,” she said eventually.

Ahsoka walked over to his tank. Like Anakin, he had a breathing mask around his mouth and nose, but there were a lot more wires connected to him—ports had been placed in the crooks of his elbows and other various points along his body, allowing for tubes and needles to stay latched beneath his skin.

“I heard the Council might charge Obi-Wan for what happened,” Ahsoka whispered then. It was cold in the Halls, and she shivered as a line of bubbles belched up from the base of the tank. She knew it was to circulate the water, but it sounded so unpleasant.

Master Vokara raised a disapproving brow. “And where did you hear that?”

She looked at the older woman, her face heating. “Just around,” she said vaguely. “Lots of people are talking about it.” That much was true, at least. Everywhere she went, people stared and whispered.

Vokara sighed. “It’s impossible to keep secrets in the Temple. The Order is full of prying gossips.”

Ahsoka hesitated. She felt the Master’s eyes on her, as if daring her to prod further. She knew she shouldn’t ask, and Vokara wouldn’t want to answer, but….

“Transference,” she whispered, and the woman flinched. “That’s what he did, right?”

Vokara pursed her lips. “I can’t say,” she said carefully. “I wasn’t there.”

“But he—he saved him. Anakin, I mean.”

“Master Kenobi managed to keep Skywalker alive at the expense of his own health, yes.”

Ahsoka frowned at her. The words were exact, each one strategically picked before said aloud. “But isn’t that what Healers do?”

The smile Vokara gave her was a little patronising. “To heal with the guidance of the Force is a highly advanced skill. It takes discipline even above and beyond what is needed to wield a lightsaber, or master the knowledge held within the Archives. We drink deeper from the Force than most. To do so carelessly….” Her eyes slid off Ahsoka, going to the bacta tank holding Obi-Wan. “There are consequences.”

Ahsoka followed her gaze. The solution made Obi-Wan’s silhouette waver, and his skin was devoid of almost any colour. “I see,” she murmured.

“We will monitor his progress,” Vokara continued. “And when his body wakes, we will see who is there to meet us.”

Ahsoka jolted. “You mean he—? He could have—”

“As I said, we will monitor him. The important thing is that he and Skywalker are both alive. There are many versions of this tale that do not manage even this feat.”

Ahsoka wrapped her arms around herself and looked away. The floor seemed like a safe enough place to stare. “Obi-Wan hasn’t turned,” she whispered. “I would’ve felt it.” It was an impossible thing to even contemplate. 

Master Vokara laid a hand on her arm. “I hope you are right, my dear, for everyone’s sake.” She tugged on Ahsoka’s arm, pulling her towards the doors. “But you don’t need to linger here in the meantime. Get some rest instead. There’s nothing more you can do.”

Ahsoka let her hand trail along Anakin’s tank as they passed, but she didn’t resist the older woman. “Okay,” she whispered. “Good idea.”

* * *

He never felt comfortable in the Temple. It always seemed like he was intruding on some private affair, even when he was stripped down to his blacks and silent as a mouse. This place was a sanctuary for so many, but not for clones.

Despite his discomfort, the Jedi had been nothing but welcoming—Cody was told to wait in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, a place he’d heard of but never been to. The massive greenhouse accommodated all sorts of life from across the galaxy, gathered and carefully tended in harmony here. It also lived up to its name; he heard nothing but the constant rush of water, steady enough to soothe without overwhelming the senses. 

Whatever the intended effect, it wasn’t working on him. He fidgeted by a wall of windows, feeling out of place in his own body. Cody wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit something, or go to Tack and ask him for a narcotic strong enough to knock him on his ass for the next fourteen hours. Paperwork seemed an absurd, insurmountable hurdle right now, and some part of him didn’t want to start until he knew whether the 212th would be transferred or not. What if Kenobi was dead right now and he was twiddling his thumbs like an asshole, trying to figure out the best way to word a report? It was irrational, but he felt that he had to be doing something more meaningful, more significant in the interim. Maybe the ritualistic habits of Jedi were wearing off on him.

The fountains around him never let up, and while they were quiet enough to allow for conversation, they made it impossible to hear anyone approaching. So when Rex cleared his throat, Cody flinched and swung around, hand going to a weapon that wasn’t there, heart in his throat.

Rex raised a brow. “At ease,” he said dryly. He was also wearing his blacks, though his boots and greaves were still on. 

Cody let out a sigh, his shoulders drooping. “Figured you’d be back at the barracks by now.”

He shrugged and came to stand beside Cody at the window. Coruscant’s nightlife filtered through the glass, bright enough that interior lights were unnecessary even in the middle of the night. “I’m here as long as you are.”

He frowned at his brother. “Don’t stay for my sake. I’m fine.”

Rex shot him a look that said he knew better, and Cody decided he really didn’t want to discuss his mental state right now. He looked back out the window. “How’s Tano?”

“She’s with Skywalker. He woke about an hour ago.”

“I heard.” Cody crossed his arms, though it wasn’t particularly chilly. 

He saw Rex shift in his periphery. “No word on Kenobi yet.”

“Heard that, too.”

The anger in his voice drew Rex’s attention. He said nothing for a moment, then bumped his brother’s arm. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” He hung his head and let out a breath, rolling his neck. His whole body ached. Maybe he should climb into a bacta tank. “He always does this. No point in yelling about it.”

“Put himself in danger, you mean?” Rex’s brow quirked. “I mean, I get it, but Skywalker is just as—”

“Not that.” He looked at his brother. “Whenever Skywalker’s in any sort of trouble, he abandons his post to save him. Doesn’t matter what’s going on.” Didn’t matter what their objective was, didn’t matter who else might need saving—even his own men. If Skywalker called, Kenobi answered. Always.

Rex light expression faltered. “Yeah. Though… Skywalker does that too.”

“It’s different.” He shook his head bitterly. “At least Skywalker is honest about it. You prepare for it. Kenobi’s supposed to know better. I can’t rely on him, not when Skywalker is around.”

It surprised him how much the words hurt to say. They clawed at his throat on the way up, leaving him feeling raw. “He wasn’t anywhere near that building when it was going down, but he made sure he was right next to Skywalker when it fell. If it’s between Ghost Company and his Padawan, he’ll pick Skywalker every time.”

Rex was silent. Any reassurance was pointless—he knew Cody was right. That hurt even more. He wanted his brother to push back, to tell him he was getting worked up over nothing. But all Rex did was nod.

“I mean,” Rex finally murmured, “I don’t know if I’d do any different, if it were you.”

Cody turned towards him at that, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“What?” 

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah—maybe.” Rex faltered, and scrubbed a palm across the fuzz on his head. “I dunno. It’s complicated.”

“I know it is. But I wouldn’t—leaving your own men behind to save a single brother? You would honestly take that risk?”

Rex didn’t answer his anger with anything but a wincing smile, and Cody immediately felt guilty. “I hope I’m never in that position,” he whispered. “I haven’t been in it yet. Not with—not with you. And I intend to keep it that way.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you right now what you’ll do.” He grabbed Rex’s arm to keep his gaze locked on his. “You don’t let your men down for me. I wouldn’t do it—you know we can’t.”

“I know what we can and can’t do,” Rex said, finally irritated. He worked his shoulder, and Cody dropped his hand. “I’m talking about would and should. I’d trade a lot to keep you around, and I don’t wanna ever know exactly how much I’d be willing to trade for it.”

Cody clenched his jaw. He looked away, to the safety of the skyline, and nodded. “I know.”

“It doesn’t make Kenobi right,” Rex said to him then, quieter now. “I just mean—it’s a hard decision, is all.”

“Every decision in this war is a hard one. I need him to make ones that don’t put all of us in jeopardy.” He kicked at the ground, sighing again. “Sorry. This is—it’s getting to me.”

“Come back to the barracks with me, then.” Rex nodded towards the door, a soft smile on his face. “I’ve had enough of Temples and fountains for one day.”

Cody forced a smile back with a huff. “Yeah. So have I.”

* * *

Waking in the infirmary had become something of a habit in recent years, and it wasn’t one he was particularly proud of. He usually had someone at his side to berate him when he finally regained consciousness, at least. Seeking penance as opposed to permission had served him well, not just with the Council but with Order itself. To say nothing of the Senate….

Obi-Wan went to wipe at his brow and realised he couldn’t. For an instant he thought he was still trapped beneath the rubble of a building, left to die, but no. Cool, fluorescent bulbs lit the room, and the air was too clean, too sterile. When he inhaled, all he drew in was air. The trouble now was determining exactly _which_ infirmary he found himself in; he was a frequent client of many. 

“Don’t struggle,” said someone to his right. His head shifted on the pillow, and his eyes slowly opened. To his surprise, he found Master Windu by his side, sitting patiently in a chair. 

Obi-Wan frowned. He’d been out a while, then; he didn’t remember returning to the _Negotiator._ A spike of fear seized in his chest, and he disobeyed the order Mace had just given him. “Anakin—”

“Is well,” Mace assured him. “He’s safe and resting.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and swallowed, slumping back against his bedding. _Safe. Well. Resting._ Assurances he did not have hours—days?—ago. “Good,” he whispered.

“You’ve been out for a week,” Mace told him. “A remarkable turnaround, considering.”

 _Considering._ Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, and this time, he took in all of Master Windu; the man had shed his outer cloak, and his robes and under-tunic were as finely pressed as they ever were. He sat straight-backed in the chair, but relaxed, expression calm. His hands were at ease—

No, one of them was. It rested carefully on his thigh, palm down. In the other was the hilt of his saber, unlit but ready. It dawned on him then why the practiced, careful pose was so striking; it was that of a swordsman at rest, alert and ready to move at the slightest hint of danger.

Obi-Wan looked down at himself then. He saw the restraints at his wrists, at his ankles and across his chest. A deep, aching shame began to pool in his belly.

“A precaution,” Mace said gently, though there was steel behind his words. Calm, but unyielding. “One I’m happy to see is unnecessary.”

“I wouldn’t have been that reckless.”

“No?”

He met Windu’s eyes. “No,” he repeated back at him. “I was careful.”

“Is that what you call it?” Mace stood up, and clipped his saber to his belt. His hands folded behind his back, gaze steady. “What is your error, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“Really?” He jerked an arm in the restraint socket, and then regretted it when the movement jarred his ribs. “We’re doing this now?”

“You seem like you have a much better grasp on the situation than I do,” Mace replied, brow raising. “Enlighten me.”

“This isn’t a Council meeting—”

“And you’re lucky it isn’t one,” he interrupted. The steel came to the fore. “If I liked you less, there’d be a lot more Jedi in this room.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked around. He realised, belatedly, that they were not in one of the common halls in the infirmary; this was a private room, closed off with a locked door. It was identical to the room they had used to secure an injured General Pong Krell in after the ugliness of the Umbara campaign. Perhaps it was the very same one.

He pursed his lips. “You think you could take me? By yourself?”

“I know I could,” Mace said easily. He didn’t quite smile, but there was a hint of humour in his eyes. “Especially when you’re this unbalanced.”

He gave him an exasperated look. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Could you please uncuff me?” 

Mace shrugged. “Well, your eyes aren’t yellow.” 

Obi-Wan didn’t find the comment very funny, but he decided not to say anything. Master Windu made quick work of the binds, though he cautioned Obi-Wan to remain supine. His ribs were still mending, as were the dozens of other contusions and fractures he’d suffered during the collapse. The receding ache in his body, which felt oddly like growing pains, told him he’d spent some time in a bacta tank, but that didn’t mean he was in perfect health.

But at least he was free. He made a show of rubbing at his wrists, which Mace only acknowledged with a roll of his eyes.

“Are you finished stalling?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said stubbornly, and then gave him a sour look. “Fine. But please sit down. I dislike being stared down at.”

Mace took a seat without a word. At least he didn’t look like a man poised for a duel this time. He crossed his hands neatly in his lap, and then waited, saying nothing. 

Right. Never repeat a question you didn’t want more than one answer to. Obi-Wan sighed. “What do you want to know, exactly? A lot happened.”

“I want to know why you abandoned your men, put yourself directly in harm’s way, and then attempted to use the Force to stop Anakin from dying.”

“I didn’t attempt it, it worked.”

Mace’s expression hardened. 

Obi-Wan looked away. “But that’s an accurate summary of what happened, yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“What do you mean, why?” He frowned. “I think that’s obvious.”

“And if it hadn’t worked?” Mace looked properly angry now. “Drawing that deep in the Force has consequences. What if you turned, then and there? What would have happened to your men? To Skywalker? Do you know what kind of threat you would pose as a Sith?”

“I made sure I didn’t,” Obi-Wan protested. “Anakin may have dragged me under, but he pulled me back up—”

 _“You_ went under,” Mace interrupted him. “They are your actions. Own them with your words, if nothing else.”

He was being spoken to like a child now. He supposed he deserved it, but he was not in a particularly repentant mood right now. “I wouldn’t have done it if there was any doubt.”

“You would have let Anakin die, then.” Mace held his gaze, and it was impossible to look away. “You would have allowed that to happen.”

Pressure built in his temples. His eyes stung at the thought. There was only one answer to that question. “No.”

Mace nodded, but he didn’t look disappointed. He just looked old. “That is the problem, Kenobi,” he said quietly. “That’s always been the problem.”

He finally was able to look away, and found solace in the pulls of his blanket. “This war is—it’s making us do things we shouldn’t be pushed to do. It’s changing us, perhaps irreversibly.”

It was a common refrain amongst his fellow Jedi that the war felt like it had already spanned decades in the paltry two years they’d actually been at war. He didn’t want to think of what would become of them all if it persisted for even another two.

“No,” Mace said then, making Obi-Wan flinch in surprise. “That isn’t it. We’ve been having these conversations a long time before the war started. If you don’t want to have an honest discussion with me, then you can talk to the Council about it.”

“I know it’s not just about the war,” he said, and felt himself floundering. It was a dangerous position to be in, especially in front of Mace. “It’s about a lot more than that. The Prophecy—”

Mace scoffed. “Don’t start with that. If the Force wants to take Anakin, that’s its prerogative. And if you honestly believed in it, had faith in this life course Skywalker is destined for, then you would have let today happen as intended.”

“It wouldn’t have taken him today,” Obi-Wan insisted, “because I was there to—”

“Do you hear yourself?”

He clenched his jaw. Mace was shaking his head. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” he hissed. “Yes, I hear myself. I’m aware of how I sound. I can wallow in shame, or I can deal with it.”

“By indulging in your attachment to Anakin at every opportunity, even to the detriment of your men and your duty as a Jedi.”

“It’s not—”

“Do not,” Mace warned. His eyes were fierce. “Do not finish that sentence. I know you respect me, even if you don’t respect yourself. Act like it for once.”

Mace stood up then, moving the chair back. He walked until he got to the end of Obi-Wan’s bed, and then turned, bracing his hands on the safety bar. “This is very serious, Kenobi,” he said. “Probably more than you appreciate. I hoped speaking to you about this would provide me with clarity, or at least give me some idea as to what the next course of action should be. I have to report the summary of this discussion to Master Yoda.” He let out a slow exhale. “Out of deference to you, I’m giving you one final opportunity to assure me this won’t be a problem going forward.”

He met Mace’s eyes once again. They were calm, and sure, implacable as mountains. This was an olive branch not afforded to many, and the gravity of it did not escape Obi-Wan’s notice. 

But it was one he couldn’t take.

“You know what my answer is,” he finally whispered.

Mace’s eyes fell to the blanket. “Very well, then.”

* * *

One of the weird things about the war was that Anakin found himself in the study halls a lot more often. Not to access his own office—his chair still had its protective plastic sheet covering on it—but to seek out Obi-Wan. This level of the Temple used to be familiar to him as a child, mostly because he spent at least some part of each week getting into trouble, but it had been years since then. 

Anakin stopped at Obi-Wan’s door and rapped his knuckles on the heavy surface. He could hear a faint tinkling of music from within, and smiled. Obi-Wan was definitely hiding in his office rather than using it for paperwork or study. He couldn’t say he blamed him; in the current rotation of subjects to gossip about in the Temple, he was near the top of the list.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, and Anakin stepped inside. What he found surprised him; boxes on the ground, open and full of clutter from Obi-Wan’s desk and bookshelves. He frowned as he approached the nearest one to the door. “What are you… doing?”

“Anakin?” The music shut off a moment later with a scramble of hurried movement. Apparently startled at his visitor, Obi-Wan looked up, wide-eyed, from the stack of books on his desk. “I didn’t realise—I thought you were still resting.” 

Anakin faltered, and despite everything, felt awkward. He hadn’t seen Obi-Wan since they’d been lifted from the rubble. One of them always managed to be asleep when the other woke, and between that and the cocktail of drugs Vokara had put him on, this was the first time Anakin was truly lucid.

Judging by Obi-Wan’s tentative, slightly pained smile, he felt the same.

“Hey,” Anakin said, a lot more quietly. “Um—yeah. They released me. I’m good to go.”

Obi-Wan nodded. His eyes seemed to search him. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, you know.” He gave a stilted, one-shouldered shrug. “Broke my spine, but otherwise I’m good. Master Vokara forced me into a back brace.” And an intense physical therapy regimen. And painkillers to take at night. And a lot of other things he didn’t have time for. “Says it’s a miracle I’m already standing up straight.”

“You were always resilient,” Obi-Wan said softly. He looked away then, and settled on the edge of his desk. “And Ahsoka?”

“She’s done yelling at me, I think. We’re gonna try training this afternoon. Nothing strenuous,” he added, seeing Obi-Wan’s concerned look.

He nodded. “Good. Well, I’m glad that you’re alright.”

“Me, too.” Anakin shuffled in place, unsure of where to go from there. “And you? Heard you got it worse than I did.”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, almost automatically. Hearing how unconvincing that was, he followed it up with a weak smile. “I’ve been well looked after.”

“And now you’re—” Anakin bent down and grabbed a book from the box at his feet, standing up to examine it. “Cleaning your office out?”

“Just re-organising,” Obi-Wan clarified. “It was long overdue. And I’m—” His mouth twisted, his expression turning wry. “Well, in truth, I’m using it as an excuse to avoid Cody.”

Anakin looked up. “Why?”

“We have a lot to discuss, given….” He trailed off, and then gestured between them. “Given everything.”

Everything. That was a good summary of it, Anakin thought. “Is he mad at you or something?”

“Among other things,” he replied cryptically. 

Anakin shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. I woulda done the same.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched. “That only makes matters worse.” 

He sobered then, and held out his hand for the book. Anakin gave it back to him, and he set it carefully down on top of his desk. His hands were dusty, and Anakin could see smears of grey on his cheek and in his hair from where he’d touched his face. Then he let out a sigh, and looked at the floor. “And you cannot do as I did, Anakin. You can’t follow me down that path. It’s too dangerous.”

Anakin raised a brow and crossed his arms. It made the base of his spine twinge. “I’m sorry, are you turning _your_ fuck-up into a lecture about _me?_ Is this what you were planning on berating me about?”

Obi-Wan moved to respond, but his mouth hung open for a moment. Then he smiled. “Not exactly,” he said then. “But I think it fits nicely, doesn’t it?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Sure. If anything, _I_ should be yelling at _you_ right now.”

They both fell silent at that. He’d been too hopped up on pain meds to stew in his anger about what had happened, and thought that maybe the sight of Obi-Wan would finally be the trigger to let loose the dam holding all of it back. And while he was still angry—really, really angry—about what his former Master had done, all he felt now was relief. Like perhaps he’d overreacted about the whole thing. Of course Obi-Wan didn’t die; he _couldn’t_ die. It would be like watching the Temple crumble to the ground. Not just a loss, but the end of an age. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” he murmured, making Obi-Wan look up. “That between the two of us, it would’ve been me.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’s why I did what I did.”

Anakin found the wall nearby and allowed that to support him, bracing a shoulder against it. “Can I ask,” he said slowly, “... how it felt? To do… that?”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan was quiet for a while, and Anakin didn’t rush him. “Do you remember what you were taught, right at the beginning of your studies? About the Dark Side of the Force?”

“Yeah, it’s like an ocean, or whatever.” Anakin waved his hand, indicating the room around them. “It has depth. Jedi stay near the surface.”

“And that it becomes successively more and more painful, the further down you go,” Obi-Wan added.

Anakin frowned at his tone. “Did it not feel like that?”

“It was… far more welcoming than I had anticipated.” Obi-Wan didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s because of my—prior history with it, or something else. But it is far, far easier to slip into the Deep than we are often told. It was comforting. It had answers to questions I had dared not ask.”

Anakin suppressed a shiver. This was another change the war had brought on—Obi-Wan spoke to him differently now. He let the careful mask of a patient and all-knowing teacher slip more often. The truth was delivered a lot more plainly. Anakin wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Well—” He hesitated. “How far down did you go?”

Obi-Wan looked at him finally. “Quite far.”

Anakin felt the colour drain from his face. “Right.”

“You would have died,” he continued. “Of that I’m certain. I though the risk was worth it, and it turned out that it was. But I can’t repeat what I did, ever again. I won’t resurface a second time.”

There was nothing else to do but believe him, which was terrifying enough in its own right. Anakin struggled to find words and came up empty. What was there to say? 

Obi-Wan seemed to sense his unease. “This isn’t your fault,” he told him. “You don’t need to feel guilty or ashamed about this. But don’t let this encourage you to behave as I have, either. This was a… particular set of circumstances,” he said then. “They aren’t replicable.”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Anakin summarised, the humour weak in his voice. 

Obi-Wan still picked up on it. “Yes. Not my preferred method of instruction, but I’ll have to make an exception—one I hope you follow.”

Could he? If the positions were reversed, could he let go when the time came?

The answer was obvious. “I’m probably not going to,” Anakin said finally. “And I think you already know that.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched. He didn’t seem angry at all. “Perhaps you won’t find this funny, but this is the exact conversation I had with Mace a few days ago.”

“I’d love to be in the room, just once.” Anakin grinned, relishing the thought. “Can you imagine? You getting yelled at for being wrong?”

“Sadism is not an admirable quality in a Jedi, Anakin.”

“Neither is using the Dark Side,” he shot back.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Point taken.”

“I’m probably gonna yell at you about it later, too,” Anakin continued. “I just don’t have it in me to be angry at you right now.”

Obi-Wan smiled faintly. “I look forward to it.”

The words made something clench inside Anakin’s chest. He stood up from the wall, unfolded his arms, and held them out to his Master, beckoning. It wasn’t negotiable.

Obi-Wan unstuck himself from the desk and went to him. Aware of his damaged ribs, Anakin opted for squeezing his arms around his shoulders instead. And while Obi-Wan was just as gentle, his hands made desperate fists in Anakin’s robes.

He pressed his face into his Master’s hair. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured. “As I, you.”

Face still hidden in the solace of the crown of Obi-Wan’s head, Anakin smiled. “Are you gonna give me my wedding present now?”

His Master shook with laughter. “No,” he protested. “I told you, not until after the war is through.”

Anakin pulled back, and Obi-Wan looked up at him. “It’s going to be soon,” he told him. “I can feel it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

When he said nothing more, only stepping away and taking a deep breath, Anakin raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really what?”

“You got nothing for me?” He shook his head at Obi-Wan’s puzzled expression. “Do you know how long I kept that secret in? And you’re just not gonna say anything?”

“What would you like me to say?”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. You always have something.”

Obi-Wan leaned back on the desk again, and crossed his arms. “I think,” he said slowly, head nodding in consideration, “given the circumstances, it feels a bit insincere for me to lecture you on the danger of attachments.”

“So I’m right and you’re wrong, is what you’re saying.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “No,” he said. “Not at all. But I should get my house in order, as it were—” He gestured amusedly at the mess of his office, “—before I go out of my way to judge you for your own choices.”

“That’s probably gonna take a while,” Anakin mused, looking down at the boxes at his feet.

“The rest of my life, I imagine.”

Anakin looked up and smiled at him. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“You’re free to stay and help me,” Obi-Wan told him.

“Nah, I hurt my back the other day.”

Obi-Wan threw his head back and laughed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over on tumblr [@oriyala](https://oriyala.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Edit: the super amazing [@cranity](https://cranity.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr drew some art for this fic, which you can find [here](https://cranity.tumblr.com/post/631343166715543552/obi-wan-bowed-his-head-pressing-his-face-into)!


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